


the edge of the world

by triangularium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, First Meetings, Gen, Rivalry, You Should Have Come to Shiratorizawa, poor ushijima, this is not how you get oikawa to set for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangularium/pseuds/triangularium
Summary: Long before Hinata runs into Kitagawa Daiichi players and initiates a rivalry with Kageyama, Oikawa meets his Least Favorite PersonTMin the bathroom of the Miyagi Prefectural Gymnasium.





	the edge of the world

 

“I believe there are no random meetings in our lives -- that everyone we touch, who touches us, has been put in our path for a reason. The briefest encounter can open a door, or heal a wound, or close a circle that was started long before your birth.”  
\-- Susanna Kearsley ( _Every Secret Thing_ )

 

“All of you fought very well today,” Oikawa says through the lump in his throat, watching tears bubble up in his teammates’ eyes. It’s paltry comfort for the devastating loss they’ve just sustained against Shiratorizawa Academy Junior High, and even Iwa-chan’s cheeks are slightly shiny, regardless of the frightening scowl he attempts to set his expression into to hide it.

 

Oikawa’s heart hurts.

 

He forces a too-wide smile and tilts his head to the side, hoping for something, anything -- perhaps some gentle ribbing about trying too hard to look ‘adorable’ for the girls.

 

“Wait up for me by the bus! There’s something I have to take care of.”

 

The last phrase fades away into a mumble as he rounds the corner of the hallway, walking as fast as his legs can carry him. His sight blurs and the lobby in front of the line of doors before him swims for a moment. He blinks quickly to suppress his own tears -- as he has consistently been doing for the last half hour or so -- angrily, inhaling and deliberately stiffening his facial muscles to prevent any from falling over in obvious streaks.

 

There are still a few people milling about, some who stand out to Oikawa in their pale green uniforms -- a team they’d soundly trounced earlier today. He doesn’t remember the school they represent, but if they’re still here, they must have watched Kitagawa Daiichi, a well-known feeder for several powerhouse high schools, crumble when faced with Shiratorizawa.

 

He can hear them as he strides past determinedly, glimpse heads turning in his direction from the corners of his eyes, and feel the emotions that radiate off of them though their voices coalesce to a dull, monotone hum that becomes impossible to ignore in the comparative silence of his head. He tugs at his blue uniform jacket, fidgeting unconsciously. He’s the captain of the runner-ups. They recognize him, and he’s not deaf to their muttering. He can’t hide.

 

( _eternally second best_ )

 

Competitiveness, and sometimes not the healthy kind. The type that drives Oikawa into over-practicing, nitpicking at imaginary faults, and wondering why the tireless work of an underdog never seems to be enough to overcome established winners.

 

Ambition. Jealousy. Insecurity.

 

The rest of the participants feel these, too. However, Oikawa latches onto something less recognizable, something _other_ radiating from the scattered groups of straggling teams who stayed to watch the finals -- an overwhelming sense of pity.

 

They’ve watched this tableau play out in every prefecture-wide volleyball tournament for three years -- “Kitagawa Daiichi vs. Shiratorizawa” inked out as the last two schools standing, and finally the latter rises up inevitably to snatch the crown.

 

 _It’s expected_ , they wonder, citing Shiratorizawa High’s steady success even at the national level. Why do they keep trying? _No team can weather a match against Shiratorizawa if their libero can’t consistently receive a ball from the ace --_

 

Oikawa takes the last steps in a journey that feels like it’s lasted forever and pushes open the bathroom door. The walls are wide and large, creating a spacious environment, and he realizes that the increased claustrophobia he’d been experiencing outside, surrounded by people who had watched and judged his setting and serving failures, is radically diminished. It’s mercifully, blissfully silent, although he can’t escape from the self-deprecating voice in his head.

 

Sitting on a toilet seat alone, Oikawa finally allows himself to be weak.

 

He runs over key match moments in his head. He should have set to Iwa-chan when Shiratorizawa had been marking Makki and dived harder -- faster -- for the ball that had hit the ground centimeters from his fingertips and won their opponents the last point.

 

 _What value does a setter who can’t even set properly have to his team?_ he thinks viciously. _I’m ineffective and stupid and off my game... I should have studied tapes and videos to get to know Shiratorizawa’s playing style better, pulled longer hours in the gym instead of studying so hard for tests I’d score well on anyway, disregarded Iwa-chan’s urging to meet up with friends instead of perfecting my jump serve. Now it’s over and I’m worthless, I’m worthless --_

 

The door creaks open, a soft sound as the edge slices through the air that is punctuated by the heavy, ominous tread of sneaker-clad footsteps.

 

Oikawa shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle his sobs and wipes frantically at his eyes -- surely reddened by now -- with the other.

 

Then, another pang of anxiety shoots through him abruptly. He doesn’t have a watch; he leaves the one with the gigantic black display (Iwa-chan calls him a nerd when he wears it, even though he’s the one who bought it for Oikawa in the first place) at home because he’s afraid it’ll break if a volleyball collides with it at the wrong angle. How long has it been? Is he holding up the bus? He couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes, and that’s still a reasonable amount of time to be spending in the bathroom, right?

 

Suddenly, he’s very impatient. He needs to get back to Iwa, Makki, Mattsun, and the others so they can start the solemn, joyless ride of shame back to Kitagawa Daiichi.

 

However, he’s in a mortifying dilemma. He can’t come out now. What if the boy in the next stall sees his tearstained face?

 

Oikawa surfaces from the toxic sludge of his thoughts, strains his ears, and hears nothing but shuffling. Is he done yet? He shifts, agitated, but doesn’t make his presence otherwise unmistakable.

 

There’s a flushing noise, the squeak of the stall door swinging, and the splash of running water. Then, quiet.

 

Oikawa believes it’s safe to emerge.

 

Vision narrowing to the point of the sink closest to him, he twists the faucet handle and digs his wet fingers into his hair, slicking it back and staring at the angled contours of his face intently, searching for flaws, cracks in his newly-reconstructed composure. He frowns slightly. There’s a purple flutter marring his peripheral vision that reminds him unpleasantly of Shiratorizawa. He turns to discover its source.

 

“AH!” A half-aborted yelp he’s immediately humiliated by claws its way up his throat.

 

The tall, dark-haired spiker at the far end of the counter calmly drops a crumpled towel into a trash can and raises his eyebrows before recognition flits across his features.

 

“I see. Kitagawa Daiichi’s setter. Oikawa Tooru.”

 

Oikawa briefly sees red.

 

“I am Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Ushijima introduces himself unnecessarily, and extends his hand politely in greeting. “You played a good game.”

 

Here is what Ushijima remembers: the second set in which Kitagawa Daiichi dredged up the dregs of their limited stamina to snatch a 29 : 27 win from his team, the rapidity at which Oikawa devised innovative -- albeit eventually countered -- methods to block and connect Shiratorizawa’s attacks, the smiles, encouragement, and trust that he gifted every one of his teammates with, increasing their confidence and morale when they felt cornered and on the track to imminent defeat.

 

Here is what Ushijima sees: a talented, promising young player with a wealth of potential, intelligence, and leadership ability. An interesting acquaintance who appreciates volleyball and can keep up with him, someone he can call to go out for informal practices. Maybe even a friend. His first real one. He doesn’t dare to hope for more yet.

 

Here is what Oikawa remembers: staring up at _him_ from a crouch, tilting his head at the chiseled-from-stone, untouchable, unstoppable Ushijima Wakatoshi. The third set, 23 : 25 as Ushijima sent a ridiculously violent straight hurtling past the hasty blocks they’d erected and glided down with a grace that belied his coiled, sinewy strength.

 

Here is what Oikawa sees: a patronizing, naturally-talented, genius ace who doesn’t understand the long hours, the frequent injuries, the emotional and social sacrifices that it takes for a normal person to become strong enough to remain on the court. A compliment, though nicely-wrapped, is nothing more than a consolation gift and a method for Ushijima to emphasize his superiority.

 

Oikawa is predisposed to dislike the category he has already classified Ushijima into. Unfortunately, Ushijima, in an amazing exhibition of his characteristic bluntness and tactlessness, subsequently crash lands a relationship that had a low chance of getting off of the ground in the first place.

 

“Oikawa, you should attend Shiratorizawa next year. Your current team is inadequate and won’t allow your skills to flourish. You might be able to draw out the full capabilities of your fellow players, but if that can’t measure up to even seventy percent of ours, your competence is pointless.”

 

Oikawa shoots past a passive distaste and into a simmering hate. He will tolerate slights to himself and his lack of ability. He knows he has a long way to go. Slights to his team -- his _friends_ \-- on the other hand, are unforgivable.

 

Ushijima Wakatoshi, with his fancy Shiratorizawa uniform, private bus, and airy gym facilities, can’t imagine their late-night, early-morning, and weekend practices when the Kitagawa Daiichi multi-use room was overbooked during regular hours. Oikawa has watched Iwa-chan painfully drag himself out of bed, Makki rub his bruised fingers to restore circulation, Kindaichi struggle to receive properly, and Kunimi become anxious as his grades dropped when he couldn’t stay awake in class.

 

“You don’t know _anything_ about me, you dense mountain of flesh!”

 

“My name is --”

 

“I know what your name is!” Oikawa snaps, breathing harshly, hands clenching and twitching by his sides. The only person who has gotten this far under his skin before is Kageyama.

 

Ushiwaka is looking steadily back at him, meeting his eyes. There’s nothing negative behind them, simply a sort of dumb confusion that is reminiscent of Tobio-chan’s reaction when Oikawa pulls a face, sticking his tongue out mockingly before explaining, _No, I won’t teach you how to serve, you idiot, no matter how many times you ask me that question -- no, no, no_.

 

He hands Oikawa a clean tissue, and glancing at the wrinkled paper that he’s holding, Oikawa becomes aware of the damp, tight lines that have crusted and dried, leaving salt behind.

 

The fiery rage and indignance at the insults has cooled, only to be replaced by a vengeful clarity.

 

He wants to destroy Ushijima Wakatoshi.

 

Oikawa smirks and channels his inner five-year-old, tossing the peace offering to the earth and stomping on it, grinding it into the grimy bathroom floor. The thin sheet tears, and he feels a certain vindictive satisfaction as he grins up at a befuddled, wide-eyed Ushijima.

 

“I will never go to Shiratorizawa, Ushiwaka,” he declares, pointing at the other boy, “and next time, I will beat you and go to nationals!”

 

He flounces out the door with renewed motivation, scheming and planning.

 

_When I get back, I’ll upgrade my serve techniques, focusing on power and precision. I’ll be able to pinpoint undefended areas, and gain points by making consecutive service aces. I’ll turn my sets into weapons and learn how to do better dumps so I can maximize my usefulness as a cog in the team._

 

“Where were you, Shittykawa?” Iwaizumi barks as Oikawa finally trudges to his seat, too distracted to object to the diminutive. “We were about to leave without you!”

 

Oikawa finally turns around, a dangerous smile curving his lips. Iwaizumi opens his mouth but nothing further comes out.

 

“Scoping out the enemy,” he replies, “and finding ways to take him down.”

 

*

 

“Tooru, you have many excellent options here,” his academic counselor leans forward, spreading his acceptance letters out on the table between them. “I would advise you to take some time to consider which high school would aid your development -- academically and athletically. I know you would like to pursue volleyball at higher levels of competition and undoubtedly the most suitable school for that is --”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Oikawa interrupts before she mentions the dreaded name, folding his arms and reclining in his hard-backed chair, reveling in the spikes of pain this movement generates in the bruises he’d acquired from diving drills in morning practice. Proof that he is attempting to mold himself into the best setter and player he can be. “I’m going to Seijoh.”

 

“Are you sure?” she frowns, and holds up the invitation Oikawa has never opened. “Aoba Johsai is a powerhouse school as well, but it is nowhere near Shiratorizawa’s level. Is there a particular reason why Seijoh is at the top of your list? You wouldn’t even have to take Shiratorizawa’s entrance exam, although your grades would likely net you a spot by sheer merit even if you hadn’t received a sports scholarship.”

 

“I want to go there regardless. Please register me under Aoba Johsai, Katagiri-san!”

 

Oikawa gives her a small, charming smile to mask his annoyance at her probing and lack of a specific answer. Memories rush out of the depths of his experience unbidden -- Iwa-chan practicing their new quicks, soaring far above blockers, Mattsun’s recently-honed feints, Makki receiving ball after ball until he nearly collapses in exhaustion but keeps going because as long as he moves and prevents them from touching the ground, he has not yet conceded defeat.

 

_You’re wrong. Together, we’re stronger than you can possibly imagine._

 

 _Watch out, Ushiwaka_ , he thinks as he wraps the red-brown Seijoh tie around his neck months later. _We’re coming to knock you off your precious golden trophy pedestal_.

 

Elsewhere on an empty court, Ushijima Wakatoshi relishes in the familiar weight of a volleyball on his rough palms before he throws it up into the air. His nose tingles and he curls inward involuntarily, the back of his left hand flying to cover the lower half of his face.

 

He sneezes.

 

The ball, neglected, passes his hand on its way down and by the time he realizes it’s descending, his efforts are too little, too late.

 

The spike-that-never-was rolls to the wall in light bounces, and Ushijima observes it, remembering similar circumstances when he’d gazed at the eyes of members of other teams as they lost, seen hope die and faces scrunch up in futile efforts to evade pathetic waterworks displays. With one exception.

 

_Oikawa Tooru._

 

_I look forward to playing with you at Shiratorizawa._

**Author's Note:**

> This reminds me of the Yurio/Yuuri scene in the bathroom on _Yuri!!! on Ice_ in an AU in which Yurio lost miserably. Also, yes, I did indeed use the dramatic _Haikyuu!!_ sneeze cut at the end. :)
> 
>  
> 
> I've always wondered how things would have played out if Oikawa and Ushijima had been on the same team throughout high school. They'd probably be either the most efficient and powerful duo ever (beating out Kageyama and Hinata due to their lack of experience) or have too much bad blood between them to work together.
> 
>  
> 
> Would Ushijima be able to gain Oikawa's trust and become something more to him than the caricatured Ushiwaka? Oikawa tends to hold grudges (case in point: Kageyama) so I think he'd see everything between them as a competition. Although his loss to Ushijima does parallel Kagehina's rocky beginnings, Oikawa's not nearly as forgiving and cheerful as Hinata. On the other hand, he might be able to take things professionally on the court.
> 
>  
> 
> And apparently Hinata forgets this sometimes, too: "In volleyball, everyone on this side of the net is your ally!"


End file.
